


Soft form, Hard shell

by theradicaldame



Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: F/M, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-24
Updated: 2012-09-24
Packaged: 2017-11-14 23:38:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,634
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/520699
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theradicaldame/pseuds/theradicaldame
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Just a short, fluffy one-shot :3</p>
            </blockquote>





	Soft form, Hard shell

Natasha closed the blind on the window. 

Dammit, Barton.

 

Clint lay on a mint-coloured bedspread, hooked up to a hundred machines monitoring his every bodily function. She’d disabled the auto-alert system, preferring that the SHIELD nurses not come barging in on them any more than absolutely necessary. He stirred, a small smile coming onto his lips.

“You were holding my hand last night. I felt it.” he said, grinning.

He kept his eyes closed-a memory trick, he called it. In his head she knew he was listing every detail of the room and her face since the last time his eyes had been open. He’d then check that against whatever he saw whenever he decided to open his eyes. Some days, when missions had been stalled or cancelled and they waited for transport, hed lay there for half an hour or more, chattering away while she got dressed and secured the perimeter. The closer the room was to what it had been the night before, the happier he was- he definitely wasn’t the sort who appreciated sudden change, something shed been grateful for as their relationship grew more complex- her life had made her into a stone thing, and change came slowly, imperceptibly to most. But not Clint- he wasn’t called Hawkeye for nothing. He saw every change in her, kept careful track, and through sheer stubborn observation, hed crawled right up next to her granite heart and there made a tiny nest.

The first time he’d been hospitalized, she had been with SHIELD for less than a month- she remembered standing over him, staring at his resting face while the light dimmed and finally darkened. The nurses wouldn’t come near her, bloodspattered as she was, and she refused to move. In her mind, she could hear her instincts screaming run, run, run, that this was her chance to escape, to go back to russia and the undergroud and never have to stare at this gray-eyed archers face again. Just as she’d nearly decided to smother him with a pillow and be done with it, he spoke. He always said the same thing, ever since that first night- ‘You were holding my hand last night. I felt it.’ She smiled, remembering how she had balked at the very idea, jerking away from his bedside and hissing in anger. He’d laughed at her, but it was a gentle laugh.

She could see his eyes moving under his eyelids- a sign he was nearly done with his internal scan. Slowly, she reached out, letting the warmth of her hand radiate out towards his, so he would know she was there, ready. His rough, calloused hand raised up off the bed and grasped hers, squeezing once. She smiled at his manicured nails. (hey a man has to have his vices, he said) Slowly, he pulled himself up- she didnt bother to try and protest, he was a grown damn man after all, and if he felt well enough to sit up then that was his business. He opened his eyes and gave the room a thorough looking-over before returning his gaze to her. 

“What, no flowers? I was out for at least half a day, Tash.” he said, feigning offense. He sighed theatrically, leaning over and popping his spine. She smiled as he continued his stretching routine, winking outrageously at her the whole time. It wasn’t complete until he made her laugh- the first time, hed got up in his bedclothes and done lunges all the way around the room, stopping finally by the door to turn around, hands on hips, and proclaim-

“Your eyes are making my ass itch.”

She had broken down completely, howling with laughter, letting out tears of mirth that she hadn’t thought were possible- he’d bounded across the room, unthinking, and wrapped her up in a bear hug. The broken nose was his own fault, he freely admitted- but he continued to lay all blame for his itchy ass on her eyes.

This time, though, she giggled right off the bat- shed covered the windows, the room was soundproofed, and shed moved that ugly hospital wardrobe in front of the door so no one could disturb them. His eyes lit up, and she looked down at their still-intertwined hands, smiling sadly.

“Hey. Don;t give me that smile. I dont want that smile.” he said.

“What smile?”

“You know what smile, spidergirl. The im-a-bad-bad-lady-who-doesn’t-deserve-love-smile.” his tone started off joking, but grew solemn as he pulled her hands into his lap.

“Tasha.”

“Clint.” she replied, looking up. His face solidified.

“Don’t make me do lunges, Tasha. My legs broke. I dont wanna do brokeleg lunges for you.” she couldnt help but laugh again, and watching his face light up banished all the but the darkest of shadows from her thoughts. He was her humanity- the only thing keeping her at all of the side of the angels, and she loved him. Slowly, he moved so that her chin rested on top of his head. He buried his face in her hair and nuzzled her cheek, making sure to rub his stubbly morning-beard all along her jaw, where he knew it tickled. His kiss was warm and soft and energetic- she loved his kisses. He could never help smiling the whole time- honestly, she thought, even if he didn’t make her happy in ways she didn’t know existed, shed stick around just to revel that she could make someone this happy- her! A murderer, liar, thief, killer. Kissing a bird-eyed man on a horrible minty bedsheet and smiling. As always, when he was kissing her neck, she couldn’t help but remember the first time they’d kissed.

It was a long- term assignment, husband and wife living together in a small glass and wood cabin in North Dakota. They were sent to integrate themselves into the inner circles of the nuclear power families- to learn and befriend them, then report back to Director Fury with what the hell they were up to, sneaking around in biochemistry, looking a little too long at footage of the Hulk. She remembered putting on a huge, horrible ring and wearing hideous, pinching shoes the day they moved in. It was a total immersion sting- they knew they were being watched day and night, so there was no room for error- they kissed, they made breakfast, they squabbled over how to fold the paper. And on the sixth day, she walked out of the ostentatious powder room in a silk negligee, and Clints eyes nearly fell out of his head. She’d struggled not to laugh. As she crawled onto his lap, straddling him against the backboard, hed reached up and pulled her down to him, whispering roughly in her ear.

“What the fuck are you doing?!” he said.

“We’re having sex, Barton. Please, dont tell me you’re a virgin.” she’d crooned, stroking his face softly. He’d made an agitated face, and shifted underneath her. She had time to register an utter lack of boner before he slid away, grabbing what looked and smelled like whiskey but what she knew was just a particularly nasty placebo. Irritated, shed half- chased him around the room, while he pretended to get drunker and drunker off fake whiskey. Eventually, she grew frustrated, and wrapped herself in a bathrobe- shed been alarmed to find that the tears in her eyes were not all false.

“Why won’t you sleep with me?” she’d asked, and a note of genuine hurt had crept in. After all, she knew he was half in love with her- but then again, what man could be expected to love her? Murderer, liar, killer, black widow. There was a flash of pain in his eyes as he slurred some insult- called her a sow, or something, but as they lay side-by-side in bed that night, hed nestled up to her back and murmured ”Men with beautiful wives dont sleep with them, they fight with them. It just wouldn’t be realistic if we kept acting as happy as we have been.” She’d relaxed a little- that was understandable, that was realistic, that was sane. Why hadn’t she thought of it? Why was there still a nagging lump in the back of her throat? Why did she care?

He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her closer. 

“Also,” he breathed “I suspect I am madly in love with you, and don’t particularly wish for our first meeting to be made of lies.”

He’d turned away after that, faking some very real and annoying snores for most of the night. She had lied awake until the sun came up, replaying over and over his words, turning them over, looking for some way that that could be a threat, a question, anything other than a blatant declaration of feeling. But it couldn’t be- that was Clint, that was why she loved him. Most people spent their lives prancing around who they were, and once you dug them out, they were duller than dirt. Clint was never anything but all of who he was- all the time, every day, he was himself. Nothing ever changed about him- he was surprising and interesting and smart and engaging and he was always that way, because that was who he was- it wasnt a part of him, it was him.

He kissed his way up her nose, planting one loud, obnoxious smack on her forehead before leaning forward and hugging her tightly. She poked his cast with her forefinger, then walked her hands up his side until her fingers rested on his jaw. He turned his head and nibbled on her fingertips. 

“All right, I admit it.” she said. “I was holding your hand.”

He threw his head back laughing. “You know I love you, spidergirl.”

“I love you too, Barton.”


End file.
